Coffee Shop Soundtrack
by Raf Kowalski
Summary: Him. Her. A song.


**Frankly speaking, when EcstaticPetenshi announced on her fic Aruhi no Oshitari and requested personally via PM, I was not sure in myself to take a part since—insert cliché reasons I often use here—but this is EP, everyone! I'm like, owe her many things so this is the way I pay it :)**

**Err... I must involve Zaizen here because he is awesome?**

**Somewhat AUish from the original story and apologize in advance if Kouki is a bit OOC (if an OC is OOC, should we call it OOOC?). I hope you're okay with it, though!**

**Disclaimer: Takeshi Konomi, EcstaticPetenshi for Oshitari Kouki, and All Time Low for the song lyrics. I also named this story after the song title.**

* * *

**Coffee Shop Soundtrack**

He remembers at the time she walks pass the threshold. It is one hell of a busy day, and a sunny one. The bus is jam-packed as always, but she looks like does not mind about that. It is like usual day he spends, and then she sits, and the bus departs.

But then, when it reaches a particular place and he goes out, she follows him. He twitches his eyebrow as he realizes there is something strange behind his back. This girl, she appears different. She is clumsy and steps hesitantly, as though creating spaces between them.

_What the hell,_ he thinks.

She wears a dusty pink with white polka dot dress and a pair of flat shoes with a matching color; not really a good choice for summer. Her eyes wandered right and left, hand clutching her white sling bag. He knows she tries to act normally, but he can see bewilderment sparks as she spots his destination, right in front of them.

And then, their eyes meet.

* * *

"Are you from Shitenhouji?"

"Huh?"

"Are you—nevermind." She waves her hand, giggling nervously. "Silly me, I didn't see you wearing those earphones."

The punk-haired boy unplugs the contraption from his pierced ears and stares her back. "What do you want?"

_Straightforward, huh,_ she mentally smirks. Gulping, she takes a breath and speaks, "Could you tell me the title of the song you just played?"

"Oh," he lifts his head with plain expression, somehow conceit leaks from his face. "Why?"

"Why? Okay, thank you."

Just then, he bursts into laughter, and it sounds underestimating. "I'm asking you why you want to know the title."

Needless to say, she is totally peeved. This guy, indeed, loves to make anyone pissed. If only she does not remember that she does not even know this little brat, and her business with him is only to get some words but she thinks she does not want it again, she smiles and leaves the place. She repeats, annoyingly this time. "Thank you."

From distance, she can hear him clicking his tongue.

* * *

She knows he is kind of popular nowadays. Of course, she knows him because he is popular—and handsome, and skilled, and funny—and that is why she falls for him.

Who is she kidding? He may see her only as one of the admirers cheering outside the court. There are many of them. Some tries or maybe has a chance to get closer to him. Even though in reality, their distance is wider than the wire fences.

No, no, she corrects herself, or rather, rejects the idea. She starts to have feelings for him since nobody knows who he is now. Two years ago, they were together—only two of them, at infirmary. She and the future captain of tennis club. The bandages really looked good on him.

"Oshitari," she blinks in startle when her name's called. "The class's over. Do you wanna stay?"

All what she can do in response is just a chuckle. She is about to pack her belongings when the friend talks again.

"We're planning to go to Javanica after this, wanna join?"

"What's that?" she rubs her eyes, yawns, and scratches her raven hair. Three of her girl classmates suddenly approach her, enthusiastic auras mixed with eyebrow-raising kind of attitude.

"Where have you been, honey? It's the coolest place in town?" the ponytail girl snickers at her own joke. "I think it's pretty swank for a café, so we're gonna hang out there and spend some times to drink coffee, eat sweets…"

"And of course listens to the acoustic play! It is awesome!"

"And the guy's a hottie."

"Wait." She yawns again. "You guys just want to see the guitarman."

"Of course!" actually it is an unexpected answer, but she takes it anyway. She stands up and proceeds home. "But thanks, I think I need some rest today."

"Don't you a member of health club?" says a curly-haired girl as she walks pass them.

Turning her head, she flashes a smile. "I'm a human, not some nurse robot."

* * *

"You work at Javanica?"

"Senpai," his trademark, so-called cold expression is unsurprisingly unchanged even after his interlocutor barks at him. "It's a part-time."

"But, finals! We have to focus at one thing, this very important moment that decides where we and this club are going to be! You know we have been these far, done so many things, fought for what it is worth to fight for." frustration blankets his face, bandaged arm, and impatient rhythm of his footsteps. "It's a freaking Nationals!"

He did not see it coming, that the younger boy slams the table hard and stomps out. "As if I'm going to play!"

He is right. The captain himself does not have rights to forbid him, nor to choose him as second doubles player on the next match.

He merely sighs.

* * *

Lunchtime is filled with chatter and smells of various vegetables. Summer breeze sweeps off the trees and their leaves, people's hair, and heat. Looking up, one will find a blank blue, swimming pool-like atmosphere.

"Hey, I heard that there was a ruckus in clubroom yesterday."

He plugs in his earphones.

"Dunno. Seems it's Zaizen. I recognized his voice—especially when he's yelling."

Guitar sound enters, followed with bass and drums. Then the vocal fills in, completing the missing puzzle from the piece then the beginning of perfection is just started. Drums. Guitar. Bass. Tingle of piano. A little bit distortion and more. Bangs here and there, then the smooth part. Shrill of the vocals. Sometimes addition of techno. Simple acoustic. Different pieces playing, but the beauty is the same. Those are creating harmony formula to escape from reality.

This is why he devotes to music. He loves it. It is his life, and he will not give up on it. It is what he is capable on. It is what he can be relied on. It is what he can do.

He never feels his job is an occupation. It is what he lives for.

'_It's a freaking Nationals!'_

"Bullshit." He murmurs, cannot resist the annoying tone. Chances are everywhere except in his hands. They do not even slip into his fingers. They do not exist.

* * *

She watches him running hurriedly, barely gasping for air. This time, it is not the dancing silver hair that is smoothly blown by the wind, or the muscular arms she hopes someday can grab her to his embrace, or the intense gaze he has from those beautiful brown orbs. Even though those catch her attention in minute amount, what captures her most is the expression.

He is worried.

'What's wrong' pops from her mind, thus making her speculate. It can't be because of a second year student she met yesterday in the clubroom when she passed, because they seemed to have a little argument. Or it can be.

_The boy who looks like Yakuza wanna be? If I know him, I'm so gonna get him._

She shakes her head on her thought. Who is she to avenge his grudge? She continues to walk home as shadows gets longer to the east side.

She usually takes a bus for transportation, but now she feels like on foot. This evening, perhaps, is too good to be spent on a ride. The weather is perfect, the crowd feels okay, and the sky is painted in hues of twilight colors her eyes can behold.

With this acoustic song, this can never be any better.

She is startled when the singer reaches the last line, realizing. She turns her head.

"Javanica,"

Little does she know when she mumbles the text printed on the café's display window, the singer is looking at her. Befuddled but curious, she decides to walk in, and finds the man with white shirt and blue jeans tuning his guitar.

Wait.

He is the _Yakuza wanna be second year student_.

And her classmates think that he's hot?

Just before she can answer that, awkward moment envelops between the two. She hastily searches for an empty seat and comforts herself, while checking the boy out in case they're right. Spiky hair, multiple piercing—she bets he also has it on tongue, or maybe a tattoo somewhere hidden by his shirt—until she jumps to a conclusion that this guy is a rebel. She does not wonder about his worry anymore, then.

"Well, he's really a good musician." She talks to herself.

But as she thinks he is going to play one more song, he put his guitar to the case and is about to stand up. Meanwhile, her brain keeps repeating the acoustic song she just heard.

She collects the courage and gets up, approaching the boy. Maybe, by questioning where he is from first, they can get along somehow. She imagines how her friends react when they know about this.

"Excuse me, are you from Shitenhouji?"

* * *

_Javanica café, Saturday 5 PM_

_Please come_

He finds this yellow post-it note written neatly on his locker Friday morning. The very first reaction is definitely frowning, until he reads the first word again.

"Another love letter?" his classmate pats his back, jerking him a bit. He quickly gains his composure and waves the paper instead in front of the friend's face.

"Worse. Someone asks me for a date."

"Wow." the caramel-haired classmate snatches the note from his hand and examines it. "Isn't it time of Zaizen's show?"

"What?"

"Saturday, 5 PM, it is when our dearest kouhai performs. He works every Thursday and Saturday. How do you guys now?"

Consciousness hits him like a brick. He grabs the note back, crumples it then puts it in his pocket. "I think I'll go."

And so, tomorrow, he takes the bus with her. When it comes to his stop, she follows. He ambles towards Javanica with her trailing behind. He looks back, and another realization crashes him like a bucket of cold water.

_I should have known that your cousin's handwriting is beautiful, Kenya._

She stands there, somewhat cursing herself for the ridiculous outfit. But she is glad they come in time, when that rebel musician is just starting the song.

* * *

_Should I write myself out of the history books? And mark a place in time for every chance you took?_

* * *

And then, their eyes meet.

**END**

* * *

**Sorry if I didn't do my best here :( but still, I hope this makes you happy. Congratulations for AoH series of yours! *trumpet sfx***

**Thank you for reading, reviews are loved~**


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